


The adventures of Roger Taylor and the French language

by Toinette93



Category: Michel Vaillant (Bande Dessinée), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1975, Alcohol, Crack and Angst, Discussions of french grammar, Formula 1, Freddie Mercury is good at non-verbal communication, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mentions of Sexism, Mentions of homophobia, Multi, Not Beta Read, Roger tries to learn French, Still written in English though, gay lesbian and bisexual characters, might still mostly qualify as a gen fic, still not a native speaker, the michel vaillant characters are really just cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toinette93/pseuds/Toinette93
Summary: He really wanted to get to know that girl, and his miming was not really working. Well, at least she was laughing but not getting any nearer to going on a date with him. He needed to find another way.____Roger goes to a Formula 1 race, wants to chat up a woman and ends up having to learn some French (well he tries, anyway). The other band members help.___Or : a discussion with a friend about whether or not Roger Taylor speaks French - I still don't know if he does, anybody? - produced, well, that. It starts as crack, does go somewhat dark along the way. Hope you enjoy.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character, Roger Taylor/Original Character(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quirkysubject](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/gifts).



> Hey there, some crack for you dear readers.  
> The (rare) sentences in French in the text are translated in notes. Hope those work.  
> Hope you enjoy it :-)  
> Cheers

**May 11 th 1975**

Roger Taylor had taken one of his rare days off. The band had come back from Japan ten days ago, and after sleeping the jet-lag off and debriefing the tour with his bandmates, he felt he was allowed some time to himself.

He was sitting in the first row of the public in Monaco, watching the formula 1 race that was currently taking place in the city. At least that is what he had been initially doing, but he also had a very good view of the pits, and he had noticed someone in the Renault pit, that had caught his attention away from the race.

Formula 1 was a men’s world, even more so than Rock’n Roll, and the woman currently yelling at her colleagues while adjusting something on the car, was an unusual sight. She was biting her lower lip in concentration, her work quick and sure, and soon, the car was back on the race. Roger could not quite stop looking. She had long red hair caught in a ponytail, she was small and slender. And she looked positively furious. He thought he’d try and talk to her after the end of the race.

* * *

For fuck sake, some of her colleagues were idiots. She knew some of these men did not want her there, and she suspected that the time they had taken to pass her the tools earlier may have been on purpose. Good thing she was quick and competent enough to compensate for it, but hell she hated that she had to. She kew what she had gotten into studying mechanics, but she loved the job, and she was not going to let a bunch of idiots stop her before she got enough money to open her own garage. At least she hoped she wouldn’t.

The race had just ended. They had not won, but had not had a humiliating defeat either. Ferrari was dominating the season anyway, there was not much that could be done. Angèle packed her things and walked out, not willing to spend anymore time with her colleagues than necessary. She also had to catch a train in the evening to go see her parents, and she needed a shower first.

She walked out, but was met with a young blonde guy smiling at her, obviously hoping to talk to her, and kind of blocking her way. She sighed internally. She did not need some idiotic comments right now. Although the guy in front of her was good looking at least, and was not spewing insults and lewd comments right there and then, so there was that.

“Hello!” he says, and his smile reaches his eyes with a glint of mischievousness in it. He has long, blonde hair and it does seem like he is wearing some make-up. And sunglasses.

“Bonjour1” she answers, slightly intrigued by the man. She notices he is not completely blocking her way, and smiles back. Maybe he’s not that bad.

“I saw you working in there, you’re pretty good at it aren’t you? I’m Roger, by the way, what’s your name?”

Angèle shakes her head

“Je suis désolée, je ne parle pas anglais2”

They share a glance. Angèle thought it would be the end of it. The blonde man looked at her, grinned and started miming. He apparently had a lot of things to say, because his gesticulations were very expressive. It was also very clear that he could not act to save his life. She did pick up a few things though, even if she was laughing too hard to completely follow. He was called Roger and he played drums. Or was very bad at dancing. Potentially both. And he wanted to get a drink with her.

“Je m’appelle Angèle3” she said, pointing at herself. Then she showed her watch and mimed a train “Je n’ai pas le temps j’ai un train à prendre4.”

The puppy-eyes that the man gave her were too funny. She thought for a second. Well, there was nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. She took a piece of paper, wrote her full name “Angèle Febvre-Victor” as well as her job “mécanicienne, équipe F1, Renault” shoved it into the man’s hand and left. If he wanted to see her again he would have to come to another race. And probably learn some French, cause she had no time to learn English in the middle of race season, although it’s something she had been planning to do for a long time.

* * *

Roger was a bit disappointed. The paper in his hand made him think she liked him, but he was not going anywhere without being able to communicate. He liked chatting up people, and it work better with a common language. He needed to get better at miming. Looking at the woman go, he thought that he probably would try to see her again, given the occasion. He was intrigued by her, and it was as good a motivation as any to try and stay in contact.

1Hello

2I’m sorry, I don’t speak English

3My name is Angèle

4I don’t have time, I’ve got a train to catch


	2. Chapter 2

**London, England, a few days later.**

Roger knocked on Freddie’s door. After a few moments spent in the English rain, it was Brian who opened it. He let him in.

“Is it Roger or Deacy?” Asked Freddie

“It’s me Fred.” answered the drummer

“Oh, wonderful.”

They walked their way through the entrance, Roger put his soaked coat on the hanger.

“Freddie, can I borrow a towel? My hair’s a mess”

“Sure, dear, you know where they are”

“Yep.”

Roger made his way to the bathroom. He heard the shrill of the phone on his way.

Drying his hair, Roger walked in the living room. He had given the bottle of wine and the food he had brought to Brian, who had gone to get some glasses. Freddie hung up the phone as Roger walked in. Brian shot him a questioning look.

“It was John. Says he’s just leaving home now. Veronica’s doctor appointment took longer than expected and then he had to drive her home. Apparently she said that being sober when we’re all drunk is no fun, and that she’d rather stay at home and finish the novel she’s reading”

“Is she ok though?” asked Brian

“Oh, yeah, apparently their was an emergency before, so the doctor took her late, but the pregnancy is going perfectly fine. She should give birth in July.”

“Can’t believe our youngest is going to be the first to be a father” mused Roger

“Although, let’s face it, he’ll be the best at that out of the four of us, dear”

“You would be pretty good, Fred” commented Brian

“Oh, I’m far too young for that. Besides I prefer kittens. Although I’m sure I’ll make a wonderful uncle to our new little prince.”

They all smiled to that.

“So it’s just the four of us tonight then?” asked Roger

Freddie nodded.

They knew John would probably take about an hour to arrive. So they decided to start eating and drinking without him, careful to leave enough food for their friend. As far as booze was concerned they had enough, given that they had brought for more people than were actually present. Freddie asked about Roger’s days off, but the drummer argued that he’d rather wait for John for that, given that the bass player was the likeliest to listen to his rants about sports car.

* * *

When John did arrive, the level of drunkenness in the room was pretty high, and he was bringing more alcohol with him. Brian got food in front of him, Roger gave him alcohol to solve the drunkenness imbalance in the evening as much as possible, and Freddie enquired about the young man’s health as well as that of his pregnant wife.

These pressing questions having been solved, and John having been duly imbibed in booze – he was far for being as drunk as the others, but he was getting there – conversation resumed, and soon came to the subject of Roger’s recent holiday.

Brian was drunk. Happily drunk. He was smiling at his bandmates, and there had not been any screaming match with Roger since the beginning of the evening, concerning any subject he disagreed with the drummer – read pretty much anything. He was listening to the blond’s telling of the race, and noticed that the description of the end of the race lacked precision.

“You did not watch the end of the race, now, did you?”

He commented. Roger grumbled something.

“Oh, I bet there was a girl” commented Freddie

“Of course” smirked John

“Please, do tell” added Freddie.

He knew his drummer well and the fact that no boasting about that had occurred so far probably meant there had been some sort of underwhelming or embarrassing element to the matter, and well, some friendly teasing was always enjoyable.

John had reached the same conclusion and surmised that Roger was probably just drunk enough to actually tell the story. He looked at the guitar player. Brian was just smiling. Well, the man could not hold his liquor tonight. A happy drunk Brian was always a pretty fun if rare sight, so John put some more wine in his glass, then feeling some form of pity for the man, also gave him a glass of water.

* * *

The part where Roger had mimed to the woman, and had been left there by her had Freddie laughing out loud. John had a less noisy but not less present laughter. And Brian seemed eagerly interested in the story:

“So she gave you her name?”

“Yeah, and where she worked too, although I kinda knew that.”

He produced the paper the woman had given him from his wallet. John thought that he must have been a lest somewhat unusually interested to have kept it.

“So you want to see her again?” asked Brian. His smile was a testimony to how much he enjoyed the idea of going running after a random infatuation in another country. Yeah, he would do that thought John, remembering the whole Peaches debacle from their US tour. Well it had given them a cool song. What surprised John a little more was the fact that Roger admitted he wanted to see her again.

He was getting interested in the whole process, agains his own better judgement.

“Do you know where? You do not have and address and phone number, do you?”

“No. But she’ll be at the next Grand-Prix. There is one in France again later I could go.”

“We could all go together, dear!  You’ve told us so much about these races, I’m sure there is something to see there ” said Freddie. 

The sudden enthusiasm from Freddie to go see a race was surprising to say the least. John suspected that outside of the alcohol talking, this had more to do with the singer’s wish to plot and have fun helping out Roger. 

“But how are you going to talk to her?” added Brian, his drunk-up brain still going very much to the point. 

“I can mime better?”

John laughed at that.

“Acting has never really been your forte, has it Rog?”

“I am perfectly capable of doing it, thank you very much! Besides do you have any better idea?”

John thought for a moment. 

“I guess you need to find someone to introduce her properly to you, and then just do whatever you do with those eyes of yours?”

“But I want to talk to her! She knows about racing cars!” Roger whined. 

“You’ll have to learn French, then” suggested Brian. 

John looked at the Grand-Prix schedule. 

‘ Le Castelet is on July 6 th  , that’s less than three month to learn French” noted the bass player

Brian shrugged. 

“Roger is smart”. Which was something they all knew, yet rarely mentioned, because Roger’s ego definitely did not need any inflating. But still, even for him, that was a lot. 

“You’ll help me Bri?” asked the drummer. And the big blue eyes looking innocently at the guitar player face made John think there was no way Brian was going to be able to deny him in his intoxicated state. 

“Yeah, all right Rog”. Yep, thought John, got him. 

“Promise?”

“Yeah”

The bass player then noticed the absence of their singer, who had left the room unnoticed.  He came back carrying a little box in his hand.

“Now, I knew I still had that somewhere.” he said. “I may have a solution to your communication problem, dear.”

F reddie got out of the box several cards putting some away mentioning that Roger would not need those. 

“I was very bored in class” he said. 

The cards had drawings of people in several situations, a number of them sexual, although not all of them. Some people were working, dancing, drinking. Roger gave it a big smile

“Now that’s a pretty good tool. Thank you Freddie”, he said, pocketing the cards. 

So now they had a plan. John would find a way to get more certain access to the  pits , Brian would help Roger learn French, and Freddie wold hopefully draw a few more cards including  cars , which were sorely missing from the current selection. 

The conversation afterwards drifted off to other subjects. Brian hugged John tightly, explaining how happy for him he was that he would have a little baby soon. Freddie and Roger started a lengthy conversation about new pubs in London and the new bands that played in them. The apartment was not exactly big, and when Mary came home that night, she found the whole band had somehow managed to find a place to sleep. She shook her head, put a blanket on a shivering John and went to bed. 


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later, a grumbling Brian was making his way inside the library of London University language department.  He was amazed at his bandmate’s gall for asking him to do it, and a bit annoyed at himself for  agreeing . But a promise, even a drunken one, was a promise, and if he was going to help Roger learn French, they needed some sort of manual. Of the four of them, he was the only one who had renewed his library card, talking his way around the regulations that normally made it impossible for non-student to get a borrowing card. He had had a good relationship with the librarian from the physics department, having spent a large amount of his time there, requesting some older books that were almost never used, which had raised the interest of the librarian and led to interesting conversations. He still hoped to finish his thesis at some point, and so wanted to keep informed of the new research in his field. The language department was not one he was familiar with, though. The library was busy, as exam times were approaching.  The guitar player thought that it was relatively unlikely he’d be recognized given that everyone was so focused on their revisions, but he still walked a bit hunched. 

He walked to the counter, where a librarian greeted him with a smile.  T he fact that the woman was smiling  during these busy times was quite surprising and a good sign. She was almost as tall as Brian, and very big. 

“Good afternoon. You seem a bit lost. What can I do for you?”

She had a thick North-Eastern accent, probably from Liverpool, and seemed to be very warm. Much to the musician’s relief, their was no glint of recognition in her eyes. He handed him his library card and said. 

“Hello. Well, yes, I haven’t been to this particular library before. I was looking for some basic manuals to learn French?”

“French, huh? Let me see...” She walked to the card-catalogue on her right, and looked to a few cards, muttering to herself.

“Which department are you from, love?”

“ Astrophysics”

“ Oh, that’s nice to have some of you from exact sciences learning some languages. It’s rare enough.” She smiled, then added. “There found it. A basic manual, a phrases book, a  dictionary and a grammar book.” She wrote down the books’ pressmarks and said. “The library’s a bit of a  maze , I’ll just get it for you.”

He thought she was unusually nice. He was getting lucky. She was soon back with the books, checked them out from him explaining for how long he could keep them and how to renew them, procedures he was very much familiar with, which he refrained from pointing out and she assured him he was welcome to come back whenever. He smiled at her enthusiasm, feeling a bit guilty that he had no real intention of learning the language. He headed back home, ready to prepare a study schedule for his friend. He had managed pretty well balancing a rock band, a thesis and a teaching job for a while – sleep had been largely forgotten in the process but still – he was quite capable of being very organized. 

* * *

A few days later, Freddie entered the studio with a look of determination on his face, and a little box in his hands. He would not admit it to Roger but he had had a lot of fun with the continuation and adaptation of his art school cards. He had made most of them thinking of Roger, and so the little cards he had drawn contained women, and cars. He had also drawn cards of the four of them playing music so that Roger could explain what they did, with an appropriately shirtless Roger on drums, of course. When he looked at the cards he noticed he had drawn quite a few, whenever he was bored in the studio or at home, waiting for people, having even doodled a few as he thought about songs he wanted to write for the next album. Mary had asked about it, found the answer extremely funny and suggested a few cards herself. She had also suggested a classification system for the cards, allowing the user to find an appropriate one pretty quickly – and avoid showing porn while meaning to ask what time it was. 

When Freddie gave Roger the cards after a long day in the studio, filled with a decent amount of arguments, even if they were not even really recording yet, the mood in the studio shifted.

“Freddie, your cards are hilarious” said Roger. “How many of those did you do?”

He looked through the cards laughing hard at a few of them. Brian and John also looked, and also found them very funny. 

“Freddie, there are cats in quite a few of these cards, aren’t there?”

“Well, dear, cats are masters of seduction, you could learn from them”

Roger also noticed the many cars on the cards, and how well they were represented.

“Fred, you know nothing about cars, did you do research?”

“Well, I might have looked up a few things, yes.”

“So he dragged you to the library as well?” asked Brian, slightly dumbfounded. 

Freddie looked almost apologetic. He had been quite taken to the project and had had a lot of fun. He may also have made some other cards, with gayer scenarios and it bothered him a bit. His train of thought was interrupted by Roger asking:

“You went to the library, Brian?”

“Yeah, promised to help you learn French didn’t I. Haven’t touched it since school so… Can’t learn it for you though, come to my place on Saturday?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, thanks”

Roger was surprised. Then noticed everyone else was looking at John. 

“Yeah”. The bass player said “I got on the phone and got us free tickets and backstage entry at the Grand Prix. We’ll still have to pay for petrol though. It’s on you Rog”

“Thank you guys, very much.” He had indulged Freddie’s ballet adventures – whenever they had the money which was uncommon, Brian’s astronomy lectures and John’s stubborn silence. But still, it felt good having friend even begrudgingly indulge him. 

* * *

On that Saturday morning, Roger got out of bed, got ready quickly, and after a moment of reflection, even put on his glasses. That Brian had scheduled their meeting for the morning had surprised Roger quite a bit. Their guitar player was very much not a morning person, while on the other hand he often worked really late at night, whenever a song randomly decided to start appearing in his mind. The drummer did not mind, he had an almost bottomless amount of energy to spend, so mornings or evenings he really did not care. He had not gone out the previous night, quite unusually, and was therefore feeling refreshed. 

When he rang the door to Brian’s apartment he was almost expecting to wake up the man. He did not. It was Chrissie, Brian’s girlfriend who opened the door. She greeted him, let him in, said she was late for a meeting with friends and left. 

Roger got in the small flat he knew so well and said hello. He found the guitar player at his desk, looking very serious. The notes for songs had been pushed to the side – Roger may have tried to sneak a look at those – as well as what looked like physics journal – he definitely did not. BRian had found a chair somewhere and had pushed it next to his own. He had also put several books neatly on the desk, and was finishing writing down something on a paper. There was even a small tray with tea on the side. He had done things thoroughly.

“Hey Rog, how are you, ready for learning some French?”, he said, gesturing vaguely to the chair. “Fine, thanks. You?” The guitar player smiled, nodded then made a motion towards the tea pot. “Yes, please” said Roger. The guitar player poured some tea and handed him a cup, taking one for himself. 

“So” Brian began “I’ve looked this over and thought you could probably get some basic notions, vocabulary and grammar in the time you’ve got. And then pick-up some phrases. I guess that for the more, let’s say, flirty parts, you’ll have to rely on Fred’s images, because I won’t find those in the manual, I’m afraid. And well, I’ll mostly be learning along with you, I mean, I did take French at school, but it was a long time ago, and I was never very good at it.” 

Probably meant he was second best instead of best in his class thought the drummer, but he did not say anything, letting the other speak. He noted the guitar player seemed both excited – which was to be expected, teaching was something he had done and enjoyed in the past – but also a bit nervous, which was more surprising. Roger wondered about that for a second, still listening to what his friend had to say. 

“So, I made a bit of a study plan. I know how busy our schedules are, so it should not depend on very regular, well, common lessons let’s says, but we’ll need to practice at home of course. I’ve never really taught languages or anything, but I think that for the sake of practicality we should probably start with greetings and basic use of common verbs. Although it seems like even that will not be exactly easy as the French conjugation seems to be a bit of a complex thing. What do you think?”

“Yeah, sound like a good plan yeah.”

The drummer smiled. Apparently Brian had gotten interested. And when he did he tended to be thorough about it. He would have a well planned, well researched course. And probably with some insight has to how to teach languages from recent research on the subject. They agreed they would work on French for around an hour and a half then go out for a bite, before each going to do their own thing in the afternoon. The whole band was scheduled to have dinner at John’s later that evening. 

A little while later, Roger was having a perfectly reasonable reaction to French grammar: 

“Je suis, Tu es, Il/Elle/on est, Nous sommes, Vous êtes, Ils/Elles sont” He repeated for the umpteenth time. “Bloody hell, this thing makes no fucking sense. Why on earth do you need that many roots for the same verb.” 

“Well, to be is a bit like that as well, although French does have a tendency for irregular verbs.” 

“No shit!”

They went back to working on how to introduce oneself. 

“Bonjour mademoiselle. Je suis Roger. Comment est votre nom?”

“It’s quel est, Rog. Or comment vous appelez-vous. And I’m pretty sure the sound to nom is somewhere more in the nose or something. Not that I can exactly do it myself.”

“I know what she’s called, Brian. I don’t need to learn that. I mostly want to ask her out. Well, and about cars.”

“Well, you’ll have to learn the vocabulary, I’m not spending hours learning how to say words I’ll never use in French. We could learn how to talk about music though.”

And so the next half hour was spent repeating “Je joue de la batterie”, Brian refusing to help Roger translate “guitars are overrated anyways”. Roger did not mean it obviously, given than he also played guitar – and actually liked Brian – but it was fun and easy to annoy him. Although in that case, his friend did not take the bait, and went back to telling him that guitare, basse and batterie were feminine nouns while piano was masculine. Freddie or John would probably have found something to say to that, so Roger remembered to tell them at some point. 

After an hour and a half, the lesson sort of stopped by itself. They did not have the concentration to force their brains to try and learn new things anymore. “What was her name again?” asked Brian

“Angèle” 

Brian smiled at that. 

“Wait a minute”. He said. Then he walked to his bedroom and came back with a disc that he put on the reader. The Beatles’ somewhat odd attempt at singing in French filled the room:

_ Michelle, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble, très bien ensemble _

“If all else fail, you can always do that” commented the guitar player. 

And so they start singing along.


	4. Chapter 4

Le Castelet, July 4th 1975

John, always pretty good with numbers and financial schemes, had managed to get them cheap plane tickets to Nice, and a car rental when they got there. He had gotten into contact with the Vaillant familiy through their lawyer who had business ties in France, and his quiet, no-nonsense behaviour had pleasantly surprised the race-director, Jean-Pierre who had agreed to get their bilingual American pilot to show them around the pits. 

When John finally parked the rental car in front of the somewhat shitty hotel that they had managed to afford by eating more pasta than usual, and maybe borrowing some money from their respective girlfriends, they were knackered. The flight had been a very early one. They had gotten two rooms, and managed to get two single beds in both rooms, avoiding the annoying arguments about who would have to deal with Roger’s kicking, John’s occasional talking in his sleep, Freddie’s random curling up into a ball that took up all the bed, or the unpleasant feeling of waking up with hair in your mouth from sharing with the guitar player. 

After a small nap and a short lunch, they met the American pilot, Steve, and started visiting the circuit. The pilot had not listened to their music – more of a country fan, guys, sorry, but I will – and had a bit of a macho feel to him, but he was nice enough, and his visible hard-headedness and passion for cars quickly won over Roger, with whom he started to talk animatedly. The two blonds soon lost the others. Brian and John started taking pictures, lost in their own technical and animated talk and Freddie was bored. The pits were a bit empty at that time, and only a passion for automobiles could make it interesting. 

The American pilot made up for their boredom that evening when it turned out he knew how to party, even if he himself did not drink and left fairly early because of the trials the next day. Roger now knew his way around the pits, and the security knew he was allowed there, so he hoped he could find Angèle on his own. Steve had explained the mechanics schedule system to the drummer so he even knew when he should try. 

The next day, John and Brian were back to taking a lot of pictures, and Freddie had disappeared something, as Roger had noted several time, his friend was rather prone to do. Turned out Freddie Mercury was a stealthy bastard when he wanted to be, and, hell he was a grown-up man, he’d reappear in time.

Roger made his way through the different pits. They were busy, checking cars before and after the trials, mechanics answering anxious questions from managers, pilots giving feed back, helmets being put on and off. The atmosphere was electric, not completely unlike one before a show, Roger mused, with the team-effort and the nerves going high, although the competitive nature of the endeavour and the danger involved made it quite different in other aspects. The trials were coming to an end, and the mechanics were rounding things up. Roger made his way to the Renault pit, and looked at what was going on. He quickly noticed Angèle – with her red hair and being the only woman, she was hard to miss – wrapping up things in the pit. The men left one after the other and she was left alone giving a last pat on the car before leaving. Roger wondered why she was the one to work the longest. Maybe she had started later? 

Finally, she was done. She grabbed her things and started walking out of the pit, when she noticed someone waiting for her. She quickly recognized the miming blond. She had to admit she was surprised he had actually bothered to come back. She was slightly embarrassed, she had found him funny, but nothing more, and she was pretty sure he had tried to flirt with her. She had not minded, but was not exactly interested either. Then he said:

“Bonjour. Je suis Roger, tu errr as memory?1” in one of the worst accents she had ever heard and she laughed. Roger had decided to go for “tu”, as he was planning to get there eventually and did not see much point in learning twice as many verbal forms for the sake of politeness. His French was not going to be good enough for it to matter anyway. 

“Je me rappelle2.” she answered. She wondered how he had gotten there. She smiled. 

“Veux-tu, boire une café? Coffee3?” He asked, miming the gesture with a wide grin. 

She was going to meet someone in a few hours, but she had time until then, and well, he seemed to be the best option she had right now. She wondered how he planned to fill the discussion though. She looked at him and nodded. 

“Ok, allons-y4.” She said. Then noting he did not seem to understand, she just, grabbed his hand, and led him along the way. She knew exactly where to go. She was going to bring him next to where she had to be afterwards anyway, as it would be the easiest. So they soon arrived to a small café that was meant for the circuit’s personnel, and seemed to be mostly used by accountants, secretaries and the like. Not the type of place Roger would have expected a mechanic to take him, which made him think he probably had not imagined the other member of the pit’s hostility towards Angèle. He got up to go grab them drinks. She let him do it, and looked, amused, at his attempt to order something. It worked in the end, although it lacked efficiency. Roger came back, put his dictionary on the table and then the images Freddie had given him. First, they drank a bit in silence, and Roger noticed that the woman seemed to relax a bit. She had obviously been tense. 

Using the cards, and some French, they managed to have a bit of a conversation. Roger showed him the card of a car, mimed, repairing it and asked. “Combien de temp5s?”

She smiled and showed to fingers, and the calendars on the wall. Two years, he understood. He showed his thumbs up and looked a bit quizzical. She shrugged. Then nodded. She seemed unsure. She also quickly changed the subject. She grabbed the card that depicted the band playing, and pointed the drummer. He smiled: “Yeah! The band’s Queen. Might have heard of us. Nous faisons rock n’roll6”. 

She thought for a minute. She was pretty sure she had heard the name somewhere. Oh, yeah she remembered. One of their songs had been on the radio recently. The reference to the French Revolution had made her laugh, she had asked her friend to translate the lyrics. “Let them eat cake, she said, just like Marie-Antoinette?” she sing-songed. Roger beamed. So she knew their song. Well Freddie’s but right now it did not matter. He proceeded, without any regard to the few other patrons in the café, to sing the higher harmonies of the song. Angèle laughed, and took the lower ones, although she did not know the lyrics. She had a nice voice, unusually deep for a woman, but he was one to talk with his high falsetto. He wrote down some of the lyrics, and pushed the paper to her. She smiled to him: “Pas ici7”. she said. Now, he knew that phrase. It was one he had hoped to use. 

“Ailleurs8?” he asked. She looked at him. Then motioned with her hand, and he followed. Roger had hoped for somewhere where they would be alone, but that was not the case. She just got him to a place a few doors away, which was a place where people apparently chatted more loudly, it had a table-soccer and a table-tennis. It was a place where Angèle was fairly sure none of her colleagues would show up, and so she could sing. Oh, she had a pretty good idea what he had in mind, at least she thought so and she was not interested, but she still enjoyed his company, and he had not been obnoxious about it, so she saw no reason not to spend some time with him. She was pretty sure the place she was bringing him to made her intentions pretty clear. 

She was being overconfident. Roger was mildly disappointed of course, but he still enjoyed the singing, and was thinking of ways to show he was interested in more than that, without being creepy. He thought she was probably a bit weary still because they did not know each other yet, but she was singing with him, and smiling at him, surely she must have some interest. When they were done with the song, Roger got closer to her. And got a card out, that showed him playing different instruments. “I have a few of those at the hotel room, I could show you? Jouer musique dans hotel9?” - He was pretty sure he would get there before Brian would, and then a do not disturb sign should be enough. She signed no though, then took to card, and made it clear she was meeting with a friend in a few minutes. “Une autre fois10” she said. “Demain11?” asked Roger. She laughed, but Roger noticed she was a bit tense. She had seemed like that a few times in the evening as if remembering something unpleasant. He wondered what it was. “Peut-être12” she said. Roger wrote the number to his hotel room, gave it to her and left. She was apparently meeting with her friend right there, because she did not move. On the stairs, Roger passed a running woman who almost bumped into her. 

1Hello, I am Roger, you remember ?

2I remember.

3Do you want to grab a coffee ?

4Ok, let’s go.

5How long ?

6We play Rock’n Roll

7Not here

8Somewhere else ?

9We could play some music in my room ?

10Some other time

11Tomorrow ?

12Maybe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the tags on this one. Look at the end note if you need more precisions.

After about five minutes outside, Roger noticed he had forgotten his jacket. He went back climbed the stairs, and got back to the room. His jacket was not there. He noticed however, a door that probably led to a cupboard or storage room of some sort and he decided to look. Maybe someone had put his jacket there? He could not really ask anyone, not speaking the bloody language, and the number of people in the room had decreased quite a bit anyway. As he opened the door he noticed that people were talking. Turned out it was not a cupboard after all, but some sort of office, that would probably have usually been locked. The voices were laced with urgency, and when he got in, Roger saw two people kissing. Two women kissing. Well, Angèle and another woman kissing. They stopped as they saw him, and he saw that Angèle had recognized him. 

Hell, she had gotten him he thought. He felt betrayed and a bit angry, although he had to admit it was unfair. She had not promised anything, and surely owed him nothing. But still, he walked in a bit brashly towards them, not sure what he would do, probably ask for an explanation, or most likely just walk right back out. He was about to do just that, when he noticed the flinch of the two women in front of him. The moment of fear in their eyes. He noted the way Angèle walked in front of the other woman, shielding her, as the other woman put her hands over her face, for protection. As she did that, Roger noticed bruises on the woman’s forearms, in the clear shape of large hands, to large to be Angèle’s. She had obviously been hit, and as he looked more, he could see more traces of violence on her face, and tear tracks on her cheeks. And she was afraid of him, now, expecting him to hurt her. Shit, he would never do that. But she could not know, could she. He felt anger, an anger he knew well that filled him anytime some asshole tried to attack Fred calling him some awful slurs. He stopped dead in his track, and raised his hands, trying to look as meek as he could. Trying not to let the anger show. Shit. He had absolutely no idea what to do. 

* * *

Nicole had arrived only a few minutes after when Roger had left. She was early, Angèle noted, and then, she saw the state she was in. She grabbed the key for the office and just got her in there, sat her down and got a better look. There were bruises, a black eye, some blood. The bastard, she thought. She knew Nicole’s husband was violent, but it had never been that bad before. She did not ask what happened just then. She knew, mostly, and Nicole looked completely panicked. She just took her in her arms, cooed sweet nothings to her, told her she would be safe, that she would get her out of this shitty situation. She was overstating her confidence. She was staying at the same hotel as the rest of the crew, and if Nicole’s husband knew what had been going on between them, and why else would it have gotten that bad, then her room was not exactly safe. Hell, her flat potentially was not. She had to think of something, anything, because what Nicole was explaining between sobs, was that the man may be after her. They had talked about going to the police before, but Nicole had always refused, and well, her husband was a policeman, so that seemed like a pretty good reason not to go. So she kept on holding her, half listening to what the other woman was saying, trying to find a way to keep her safe. And Nicole was saying they had barely done anything, but that she loved her, and Angèle agreed. Oh, yes she did. Her wonderful quiet, Nicole, the shy secretary that hid under the fear and anxiety a witty humour and a heart of gold. They had not done much really, some hand holding and touching. Nicole did not want to cheat. She wanted to divorce the man, though, was in the process of doing so, and he had caught on on what was happening, the little that was. They had not even kissed, as Nicole was pointing out. And then something Angèle had not expected happened. Nicole looked very determined and kissed her. Angèle’s lips answered almost automatically. It was not her best kiss, it tasted of iron and salt, but she was so happy it was happening. 

And then the door opened, at what was potentially the worst possible moment, and a young blond man that Angèle soon recognized as Roger came in, and she saw the look of surprise and the flash of anger on his face. The two women stopped kissing, Angèle felt Nicole cower next to her, and she herself was afraid. She had no idea how he would react. She walked in front of Nicole trying to protect her. The man stopped going and raised her hand as if in surrender, a look she could not quite read on his face. The three of them were frozen in place.

* * *

Roger thought he probably should have left, it was none of his business, really, but, he was not exactly renowned for his patience or capacity to back off. So he just blurted out what crossed his mind. Which happened to be “Please, let me help, I won’t hurt you. You can trust me, I’m a – well he sure as hell was not going to say dentist even if it was the closest thing to a qualification for the situation he had, so he said – drummer”. Yeah, it did not make any sense. But Angèle did not speak English, and even if the other woman maybe did, she probably was not in any state to judge him for his logic right now. The tone he used seemed to make his effect though, as well as the fact he kept his distance, and the two women relaxed a bit. Then searching his brain for his three words of French, and mentally thanking Brian for having insisted he learnt some non-flirty phrases – not that he would ever tell him, he added, pointing at Nicole: “Elle aller mal? Je peux aider?”

It was not exactly competent French but the meaning got through. Angèle was still holding Nicole, seeing how bad of a state she was in. There did not seem to be anything broken too badly physically - she could not be sure, but she did have a good training in first aid, given how dangerous an environment a car race was – but she was clearly panicked, and Roger’s intrusion was proof that were they were was not exactly safe. She thought she could probably take all the help she could get in protecting her friend – girlfriend? Not the right moment to be wondering about that – from a husband that was likely to try and follow her. She was far from home, and everyone she knew here, she knew from Nicole and her husband. So she could not be sure she could trust them, and besides they likely had very little time, if what Nicole had mentioned about her husband being after her had been true, and she was not going to risk anything by doubting her word on it. There was a guy there offering to help, and she did not know him well, but he was offering help, had not commented anything about them being two women kissing, and she could not really be picky right now. She also had a good feeling about the guy, somehow, so if Nicole was ok with it, she would accept his offer for help. She also remembered an information right this moment. Nicole did speak English. She turned to Nicole, and asked him if it was ok if he helped. Nicole asked if she knew and trusted the man. Angèle said she did know him a bit and after a moment of hesitation that yes, she did trust him, keeping her up to a point silent, not wanting to scare Nicole more than necessary. And Nicole nodded in agreement, and also agreed to translate, wondering at the back of her head how those two had managed to communicate so far. 

“I speak English.” Nicole said. Then added “We do accept your help”. The voice was still trembling by the first sentence, and had found a detached steeled tone by the second. 

Roger had watched the exchange in French between the two was relieved the two women had accepted his help, but he was not quite sure what he was helping with, exactly. He had made some assumptions from the bruising – he had seen enough bar fights to know what someone having taken punches looked like – and from the desperation of the two women kissing, as well as from the reflex from the dark-haired woman to protect her head when she had seen his anger. Someone had hit her, probably more than once, and she was fleeing from them – statistically, him. He could not be sure, of course but… 

He walked to the two women, sat next to them and asked:

“How can I help?” Then added “Also, hello, I’m Roger” with the warmest smile he could come up with, which was very warm indeed and lit up the room. 

“Nicole” said the dark-haired bruised woman. 

The two women started talking together rapidly in French, and the drummer looked on trying to determine if Nicole needed to be brought to the hospital, cursing himself quite hypocritically for not having paid more attention in the first-aid course they got in dentistry school. The only thing he could conclude was that her teeth seemed fine – very useful, Rog. The two seemed to be arguing, and then to come to an agreement. Nicole said: “We need to get out of here, he… he might be after me. We need to catch a train out of town, can you take us to the station?” - At that moment Angèle cursed herself for having taken the bloody train here. She was a race car mechanic and right now she was at the mercy of public transportation. 

Roger did not ask who _he_ was. He had noticed the ring on Nicole’s finger and with the rest of the picture, it was information enough. Once again he had to control his anger. He would not mind throwing a few punches himself, but it was not the time nor the place to talk about that. A few half-remembered memories of his younger years were fighting to come to his consciousness. He did not let them. 

“Yeah, I can do that”. He said. “But shouldn’t we get you to a doctor’s first? Or at least clean you up a bit?”

Nicole shrugged “I’ll get to the bathroom. I’m fine” she was obviously terrified, but physically she could maybe be described as fine.

“Don’t you want to go to the police?”He figured they’d have thought of that but he needed to ask.

“We can’t” said Nicole, her distress obvious in her voice. Roger did not ask any further. He knew, from experience, that it was not always possible, and it was not his call to make. 

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Yes we do, we’ll have to get the last train though”. 

Roger nodded, understanding the necessity for speed, as he looked at his watch. It was getting late.

“I’ll get the car.” He was lucky his bandmates had left him the car. 

He grabbed his car keys that were thankfully in his trouser pockets and ran down the stairs. The situation truly unnerved him. He wished he could have done more. Still wish he could do more. He could leave the two women his hotel room tonight he thought, as he arrived at the car. That would be safe enough would it not? He was quite sure Brian would agree, and Freddie and John would not mind sharing with them. It would be a bit tight, surely but… How he wished he had a way to call them right now. He did not like the idea of Nicole and Angèle on the train, without having had real time to check Nicole’s wounds, make sure she was ok. They could probably get a doctor to have a look at those at the hotel. 

When he walked back to the room the two women where hiding in, Roger’s mind was made, he would offer them that option. He knocked on the door, and got back in, showing them the keys. He noticed that Nicole looked a lot more put together. He could see that she had found water to wash the blood off her face. He could see Angèle protective stance next to her lover and the tense demeanour of the two women. Still, both gave him a smile, and nodded their thanks. 

“Hey I’ve got the car” he smiled. “So, we can go to the station, but I’ve also been thinking, you can also borrow my hotel room if you want. I’ll bunk with my bandmates” he added, “That way you can have a rest, maybe get a doctor to look at those scraps and bruises of yours.”

He really hoped they would accept. He remembered even trying to push the thoughts back, how powerless he had felt as a kid, faced with similarly bruised features. Nicole’s face earlier, had been so disconcertingly familiar and right now her steely determination was something he was also acquainted with. Maybe he could help this time. 

His sincerity must have seeped through somehow, because, after giving him a long look, Nicole agreed, without asking Angèle’s point of view first, as she had done earlier. He saw the surprise Angèle’s face when Nicole translated the offer and her answer. She looked at him with an air of mixed thankfulness and challenge. Even with the language barrier it was pretty clear what she meant. Thank you. But if you hurt her even more, I don’t care if you’re taller and stronger than me, I’ll rip your eyes out. Now, that was something he could understand, he smiled to her, and they left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, domestic violence is mentionned in this one, though we do not see the acts themselves we do see some physical consequences.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags still apply on this one, nothing more graphic than the previous chapter.

The ride to the hotel was spent in silence. Looking at the time Roger thought his bandmates would probably be there, catching a break before maybe going out if there was any money left for that. He sure did not have much left, having paid for petrol as agreed, but he knew his friends would pay him a few pints. It was bloody ridiculous, they had a successful album, and still had to be mindful of every penny spent. John had trouble getting a place for his soon to be born kid.  They’d have to do something about that. 

As soon as they got to the hotel, they walked to the room. Angèle gave a quizzical look to the shitty hotel. Not what she expected from a rockstar. She was pretty sure given how often she had heard the song they were probably fairly famous, and still their hotel was not any better than her own.  Not that she was complaining or anything, she was just surprised. At least they were lucky it was not the same one.  She was surprised when Roger knocked at the door. She was pretty sure he had mentioned giving them his room. Maybe he wanted to go to his bandmates first? The door opened after a while to a very tall, very thin, curly-haired man, wearing a t-shirt with some mathematical formulas on it. He had ink-stains on his right hands, and concordantly, a pen was emerging from the mass of curls behind one ear. 

Roger had hoped Brian would not be there, that he could leave the room to the two women and explain later, but that would not be the case. Brian opened the door: 

“Oh, hello, Roger, back already?” Then noticing the two women behind Roger he looked surprised, but was too polite to say anything in their presence. 

“Err, Brian, this is Angèle and Nicole”, then trying his French “Angèle et Nicole voici Brian. Il joue la guitare”. 

Brian nodded politely to them. “Bonsoir” he said, with a fairly bad accent. He looked at them both. Roger could pinpoint the exact moment he noticed Nicole’s battered face. A badly repressed look of shock painted itself on his features. Roger shot him a pointed look. 

“Won’t you let us in, Brian?”

“Oh, yes, yes, sure, come in” he said, moving away. Roger waved the two women over and said to Brian in a very rapid English, a tone of urgency to his voice:

“We’re leaving them the room to sleep in, I’ll grab a few things for us both for tonight, we’ll stay with Fred and John, I’ll explain later.”

“Roger, what? You can’t just bring...”

“Brian, please, later.” he said, pushing him out of their room and closing the door. 

Roger was quick to give the two women his key to the room, remind them to call a doctor, and grab both Brian’s luggage and his own. He assured them they could call their room if they needed anything and left them John and Freddie’s room number. 

When he got out, Brian was still in the corridor. Roger closed the door, and the guitar player started talking: 

“Roger, what are you thinking? How are we going to sleep the four of us in one room? And what happened to that woman – Nicole was it?”

“They’re in danger Brian, I could not leave them on their own.”

“Danger? What? What from?”

“I’d rather not explain several times, Bri. Or in a corridor. Are Fred and Deacy here?”

“Yes, there are.”

“Let’s go to their room then”. 

The other two band members room was not far. Brian was utterly confused, and very worried. The seriousness in Roger’s tone had been unusual and the bruise on Nicole’s face had been too visible for the guitarist to doubt his friend’s words, but he could not help to wonder what had happened. Brian had rather expected to have the room for himself that night, and then see a giddy Roger in the morning. A disappointed and drunk Roger sometimes in the evening had also been a possibility and he had checked the pricing and content of the room’s minibar for exactly that eventuality. Seeing his mate come back with his date accompanied by a beaten up friend or relative of hers, and talks of danger were not part of the usual experience at all. 

Roger knocked on the door. John opened the door. 

“Hey Rog. Brian.” he said letting them in. “Why do you have your luggage?”

Brian shrugged. They got in the room. There was a book left open on one bed, probably John’s and Freddie was busy sewing a button back on his jacket on the next bed. 

They sat down on John’s bed. Freddie looked at them. “Oh, hello. I just have to fix that thing, and then I’m all for going out, dears. How did it go with that girl of yours, Rog? And why do you have your luggage?”

Brian looked at Roger. “Rog?”

“Well, turned out she was, not single.” John raised an eyebrow at that. It was not in itself necessarily something that Roger had minded in the past, as long as the girl had not minded either. Also, did not explain the luggage. Or the worried look on Brian’s face. Although, that was not exactly an uncommon occurrence and could have stemmed from a number of things.

“Well, she’s a lesbian, also, I suppose.” Brian’s face made a silent “oh” but he did not say anything. Ok more, of an explanation thought John. “And err, her, I guess, girlfriend and her got into a spot of trouble, and I offered them the room for the night. So, Brian and I will need to bunk with you two.”

R oger’s hand was in his shirt, a clear sign of nervousness on the blond’s part. Freddie thought there was probably something he was not saying for whatever reason. 

“Of course, you can stay here you two”, and John nodded. Freddie looked at Roger curiously silently nudging him to say more, but the blonde did not. 

Brian seemed to think that more needed to be said, because he added:

“Roger, you mentioned danger, and Nicole, Angèle’s girlfriend looked like she had been hit, even I could see that. What’s going on? Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“Oh, because yo think I did not ask them about that? They can’t or don’t want to, all right, and it’s none of my bloody business.”

“But...”

“Oh, sod off, Brian. Her husband is hitting her and she’s having an affair with a woman. Who do yo thinks the cops are going to listen to, exactly?”

“Surely, they...”

Freddie put a hand on Brian’s shoulder, and looked at him with a serious face. Brian remembered what Freddie had once or twice told him about the police raiding gay bars, where some of his friend had been, even though homosexuality had been legal for a while. He shut up. 

“Well, they can sleep here tonight, but what are they going to do tomorrow. And when you mentioned danger, did you mean that her husband was after her?” asked John, always to the point.

“I’ll get them on a train, they said they had somewhere to go. And she was afraid he would be. I don’t think he’ll find her here. I wish we could do more but…”

“Yeah, we’re broke” completed Freddie. 

“Yeah”

“Maybe we should bring them to the next town’s train station. Just to be sure.” John said. 

They all agreed to that. 

* * *

They learnt a little later that Nicole had seen a doctor, who had at least pretended to believe her tale of falling down the stairs, and had patched her up. The wounds had not been severe. Angèle’s sigh of relief had been hearable from the phone. 

That night, for the first time, Angèle and Nicole moved the single beds together and shared a bed. Nicole was too shocked and bruised for much to happen, but Angèle held her through the night, and covered in light kisses her battered body, telling her how beautiful and wonderful she was. 

* * *

In the next room, John and Brian were getting the room ready. They had decided to get the two beds together and sleep on it diagonally, with the tallest at the centre. Freddie had claimed the shower, and Roger who finally had time to think had sat down on a chair, a blank look on his face. He was feeling, tired, he guessed. He was not exactly sure what he felt. Angry, probably. But not very energetically so. 

Freddie got out of the shower. “Oh thank you for making the bed my darlings”

“Did you leave any warm water, Fred?” asked a somewhat annoyed Brian. 

While this conversation was taking place, John was observing Roger. He looked unusually quiet. And where would they go if Roger became the quiet one. So John nudged Brian and Freddie into silence and attention and walked to the drummer. “You ok Roger?”

“Hmm? Yeah. I just wish I could bash this asshole’s head in” he said.

“I wish that too, Rog.” added Brian, and there was unusual steel in his voice. Roger looked up in surprise. There had been genuine anger and threat in that statement. Oh, Brian did get angry, he was in fact, amusingly easy to rile up, but the anger was a) generally directed at him or on occasion at John and Freddie and b) with a tinge of long-suffering, self-righteous annoyance to it that was wholly absent right now. The gentle guitarist obviously meant it. That got a smile out of Roger, who squeezed his friend shoulder and then claimed the shower for himself. Brian did not even complain about not having enough warm water left to wash his hair, and that was an unusual occurrence.

Brian had been surprised by his anger himself. It had been on Nicole’s behalf but not only, he mused. Some of it had been because Roger had seemed quite upset, and he remembered some half-confessions about his childhood Roger had made to him once while very drunk, about having experienced something similar to what Nicole was going through. There was more than one asshole he would have gladly punched he thought. Not that he would really know how to do that. A glance at Freddie who was nervously fussing, making the bed more comfortable, fist closed and John who had a dangerous look on his face while looking at train schedules previously obtained from the reception told him he probably was not the only one to be angry and concerned, although he was probably the one with the most information to go with. 

The night was uncomfortable, especially for Brian, squeezed between Roger and John, with his feet dangling in the air. He was finally falling asleep when Roger started to squirm in his sleep, seemingly afraid. Half-asleep, and determined to remain that way, the guitarist took his friend in his arm, and the trembling stopped, allowing him to got back to sleep. 

In the morning, getting up was a process of untangling a friendly pile of limbs. John who woke up first noticed he was half-snuggling half-strangling Brian, the guitarist and the drummer were pressed closed together, and Freddie, was using them all as a pillow and hugging Roger despite the fact there were two other people in between. 

They did not mention it, got ready, and drove the two women to the train station.

On the train ride, Angèle told Nicole she would let her stay with her as long as she needed, help her get a divorce. She had put enough aside to open her own car repair shop, and would need someone to help with accounting and management. They would do that together, and in time Nicole would get her divorce. When they got to Angèle’s small apartment, when they finally were safe in the privacy of their home, she also told her how much she loved her. It would not be an easy road but it would be one they would tread together. 

* * *

On their way back to London, Freddie finally asked: “So, did my cards come to any use? And did you manage to speak some French?”

“Yes, I suppose I did”.

Freddie took back his cards having a few ideas how to use them. John became a father. Brian went back to crafting very long guitar solos and trying to learn Japanese. And in Hyde Park a few months later, the few words of French Roger had remembered finally found their intended use. Well, at least it made her laugh. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people,  
> So that is it. Hope you enjoyed. And I could hardly make a fic about Roger Taylor and the French language without mentionning Mme Dominique Beyrand. Although, blink and you'll miss her.   
> Have some very happy holidays  
> Cheers.


End file.
